


When the Music Stops

by regenderate



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: DWFicExchange, Doctor Who Fic Exchange 2019, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-23 00:01:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20000653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regenderate/pseuds/regenderate
Summary: The Corsair and the Doctor have been dancing for centuries.This time, the music changes.





	When the Music Stops

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thetransgirlwhoneverwas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetransgirlwhoneverwas/gifts).



> So this is my piece for the fic exchange! I went back and forth on what to write a few times because I haven't listened to the audios or seen classic Who so I wasn't familiar with a lot of what seemed to be your favorite characters when I stalked your blog but I noticed you reblogged a couple thorsair posts and I can get behind that! :-D So hopefully you like this!

It’s always been a dance, between the Doctor and the Corsair. 

They come together, then spin apart, through time and space, and pull together again. And in those moments, the times when they’re together, they never crash, never fall. It’s just the same exhilarating dance, spanning hundreds of years.

But the dance is over.

It’s been over for years.

But the Doctor still thinks about it. Thinks about what it’s like to dance. What it’s like to have someone on her level, on her side, running with her. 

She doesn’t really miss the Time Lords, but she does miss that dance.

And she  _ doesn’t  _ expect to be spun back into it a thousand years later.

It’s when she’s with the fam, trying to find a stolen relic. She’s grown accustomed to a new dance in the last thousand years, a clumsier one, with new steps and new partners and different music, and she’s going through its motions, stepping into another adventure, when the planet’s police show up and the music abruptly changes. 

It takes her a moment to recognize the tune. 

When she does, she almost cries.

Not on the outside, of course. On the outside, she slips into the steps effortlessly. It’s only after the adventure, once the relic has been returned to its original owners and the fam is trooping back into the TARDIS, that the Doctor breaks from the rhythm. She does it by saying, “Don’t suppose you’d like to have dinner with me?”

“Doctor,” the Corsair purrs. “Are you asking me on a date?”

The Doctor immediately flusters. She can’t help it— this regeneration has turned out to be much more embarrassed, on a fundamental level, than she’s ever let herself be before.

“Just want to catch up with an old friend,” she says. “Really, we can just pop into the TARDIS, have a cup of tea, and after that you can be on your way, if you like.”

“Already inviting me in,” the Corsair says.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” the Doctor replies, and she leads the Corsair inside.

And the music changes.

Yaz is in the kitchen when they get there, but she finishes making her food and clears out with the bowl pretty fast.

“I think I’ve scared her,” the Corsair says.

“What, Yaz?” the Doctor asks. “She’ll be all right. Tougher than she looks and all. Probably off to play games with Ryan or read in the library or something.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the Corsair says.

The Doctor looks at her. There’s still the same edge in her eyes, even though the eyes themselves are a new shape. 

“It does matter,” she says. “You know, if you’re trying to do what I do, that’s what you have to learn. Everything matters. Everyone matters. Even when they’re human and barely last five years in the TARDIS.”

“I thought humans lived almost a century,” the Corsair says.

“Some of them do,” the Doctor says. “They just always go back to a normal life after a while. Or they get hurt and have to leave. One got stuck in another universe. I could list ‘em all off if you wanted.”

“And you attached yourself to every single one,” the Corsair says. Her voice is soft, and suddenly the Doctor realizes what it means to have another Time Lord, someone else who is capable of understanding. She’s never thought she’d have this again, River notwithstanding, and it’s overwhelming, the difference it makes.

She shrugs.

“Suppose I did.” They’re still standing in the doorway to the kitchen, and the Doctor starts for the counter. “Tea,” she adds. “We were going to have a cup of tea. Maybe some sandwiches? I love a good sandwich. Say what you like about humans, they’ve perfected the sandwich.”

The Corsair follows her to the stove, and while the Doctor’s putting the kettle on, the Corsair rests a hand on her shoulder.

“Doctor,” she says. “You really haven’t been able to talk about yourself much, have you?”

“Well, have you?” the Doctor retorts, turning to give the Corsair a look. 

“Not since leaving Gallifrey,” the Corsair admits. 

“How long’s it been for you?” the Doctor asks, carefully. “Since you left?”

The Corsair’s composure slips, her mouth falling from its smirk. It’s like the music has stopped, and now she has to think of something to fill the silence.

“I’m not sure,” she says. “I wound up in some strange places.”

“A pocket universe?” the Doctor asks. She still has the cube with the Corsair’s message on it, tucked away in a closet. She still has all the cubes. 

“How did you know?” the Corsair asks.

“I was there after. Just for a bit,” the Doctor said. “It was your cube that lured me there, actually. How’d you get out?”

“If we’re being honest,” the Corsair says, “I’m still not sure. I was being torn apart, and then a moment later, I was back in this universe. I’m sure time passed in between, but I try not to concern myself with that.” Her composure has come back, her tone suddenly distant, and the Doctor feels the music start again, but now she doesn’t recognize the tune.

“What do you concern yourself with?” she asks. 

“I’m still deciding,” the Corsair says. “Didn’t mind kindness, though.”

“It gets harder,” the Doctor says.

The kettle whistles, and the Doctor takes down two cups.

“How do you like it?” she asks. “Milk? Sugar?”

“Don’t know yet,” the Corsair says. “Haven’t had tea in this body.”

The Doctor turns back to look at her. Her hair is long and shiny, her skin, unmarred. 

“How long have you been this way?” the Doctor asks.

“Fifty years, give or take,” the Corsair says. “But not a lot of cultures like tea nearly as much as you seem to, Doctor.”

The Doctor shrugs.

“Yeah, well,” she says, “that’s what I get for focusing in on just the one country, I suppose. Made lots of friends, though.” She puts a teabag in each cup, pours hot water over them. Hands the Corsair one, pours milk and sugar into the other for herself. 

“Your human friends,” the Corsair says, sitting down at the kitchen table. “How strange.”

“I quite like them,” the Doctor says. “They’re kind. Keep me honest.”

“Are you?” the Corsair asks. 

The Doctor freezes halfway to the table. “What?”

“Honest,” the Corsair says. She takes a sip of tea and makes a face. “Needs milk,” she says.

The Doctor picks the milk up off the counter and brings it over as she sits down.

“I try to be,” she says. “It’s hard. I’ve got a lot to lie about.”

“Do you?” the Corsair asks.

“They wouldn’t like me anymore,” the Doctor says. “If they knew everything.”

“Like what?” the Corsair asks, and suddenly the Doctor remembers that her message cube had mentioned the Time Lords, that she had entered that pocket universe before the Time War and been ejected after it was all over, and the Corsair doesn’t know yet what has happened to her people.

“Lots of things,” she says vaguely. “You weren’t there for most of them.”

“Enlighten me, then,” the Corsair says. And then, when the Doctor hesitates, she adds, “Or are you afraid I won’t like you either?”

As she says it, a sinking feeling in the Doctor’s chest tells her that the Corsair is right, she is afraid, but— 

But the Time Lords are the Corsair’s people too.

And if the Doctor is trying to be honest, to be kind, if she’s trying to do what’s right, well— 

It’s her duty. 

“I am,” she says. “A lot happened while you were gone. The sort of thing you can’t just go back and fix. The sort of thing you can’t ever go back to, really.”

And this isn’t a dance anymore. It’s not for fun. It’s not exhilarating. It’s just a hard conversation that needs to be had.

“What do you mean?” the Corsair asks, and she’s always been good at hiding her emotions, but now the Doctor can hear the tremor in her voice, see the fear on her face. It’s the look of someone who’s spent fifty years in denial, who doesn’t know what happened because she didn’t ask.

“A Time War,” the Doctor says. “The Last Great Time War. Thought it wiped out the Time Lords, except for me. Turns out it just sort of trapped them in a time lock, and then they all got stuck at the end of the universe.”

“So they were gone,” the Corsair says, “and now they’re back.”

“Sort of,” the Doctor says. “They’re stuck. Gone for all intents and purposes. And a lot died anyway. You know. People do, when it comes to war.”

“Anyone I know?” the Corsair asks. 

“I don’t know,” the Doctor says. “Yes, probably. I’m sorry. We can find out.”

The Corsair nods slowly.

“I knew something had happened,” she says. “I tried to reach out. No one answered.”

“I’m not really in favor there right about now,” the Doctor says, “or I’d offer to take you. Think they might execute me. ‘Course, that was a regeneration ago.”

“How many has it been for you?” the Corsair asks. “Regenerations, I mean. Since we last met.”

The Doctor can’t remember. 

“Enough,” she says. “I had to get a whole new cycle.”

“Lucky you,” the Corsair says.

“Lucky,” the Doctor repeats. “Suppose so.”

They’ve both forgotten their tea.

The Corsair reaches out, puts a hand on the Doctor’s wrist. It reminds the Doctor of River, and of Rose, both long-gone, but echoed in the care she sees in the Corsair’s eyes.

“How long has it been since you’ve rested, Doctor?” the Corsair asks. “Properly rested, not just fallen asleep on your feet.” She laughs, almost to herself. “You never did take care of yourself.”

“Oi, I’m fine,” the Doctor says.

The Corsair raises an eyebrow.

“Fine enough,” the Doctor amends.

The Corsair doesn’t break eye contact. The Doctor looks down at the spot where the Corsair’s hand meets her wrist.

“’S been a while,” she admits. When she thinks about it, she doesn’t think she’s had a proper rest since last time she saw River. That twenty-four-year-long night. 

The Corsair stands up. Her hand trails from the Doctor’s wrist to her hand.

“What are you doing?” the Doctor asks, even as she lets the Corsair pull her to her feet.

“Making sure you get some sleep,” the Corsair says. “Where’s your room?”

“Different every day,” the Doctor says. “If we start walking, the TARDIS’ll direct us.”

Sure enough, it only takes a few moments for the door to the Doctor’s room to show up. It slides open and the Corsair pulls her inside.

“Wow,” she says, looking around at the books, clothes, and unfinished projects spread across the floor. “You haven’t changed.” Her eyes go to the bed, which is shoved into one corner of the room, blankets tossed in every direction, and is mostly covered by a crawling ivy (the Doctor picked it up a while back and has been trying to tend it, but she’s never been the greatest green thumb).

“Oh, and I’m sure your room is perfectly tended,” the Doctor retorts, although the Corsair has always been organized and deliberate underneath her rough-and-tumble facade, the exact sort of person to keep her spaces neat.

“It’s called a cabin, actually,” the Corsair says.

“Forgot you had a pirate ship,” the Doctor says. “Drama queen.”

The Corsair lets go of the Doctor’s hand and marches right to her bed. She starts pulling at the ivy, twisting it away from the mattress, moving the leaves over and resting them on one of the Doctor’s other projects (a microwave from the ‘50’s that she’s been trying to upgrade, just for fun). She’s gentle about it, careful in a way the Doctor hasn’t seen from her before. The Doctor, for her part, just stands and watches, too blindsided to do much else.

Finally, the bed is relatively clear, and the Corsair moves back to the Doctor. 

“Come on, then,” she says, and takes the Doctor’s hand again. She backs up, and the Doctor follows until they’re both right up against the bed. The Corsair sits down, and the Doctor sits next to her. 

“I don’t think I know how,” she says, looking straight ahead.

“What do you mean?” the Corsair asks, her voice low.

“To rest,” the Doctor admits. “Don’t think I can do it.”

“Of course you can,” the Corsair says. She reaches over and, with a gentle hand to the Doctor’s cheek, turns the Doctor’s head to look at her. “I know don’t like to slow down, Doctor.”

“I can’t slow down,” the Doctor says, trying her absolute hardest to avoid the Corsair’s eyes. “There’s always things to do.”

“You’re outside of time,” the Corsair says. “There’s no rush.”

“I know,” the Doctor says, her voice quiet. 

“So why can’t you rest?” the Corsair asks.

The Doctor shrugs, a lump suddenly in her throat. The Corsair wraps an arm around the Doctor’s waist and lies down, pulling at the Doctor until she lies down too, nestled against the Corsair. Like this, facing away from the Corsair, eyes wide open, she feels a little safer.

“I don’t deserve this,” she blurts out.

“Is that what you think?” the Corsair asks. The Doctor can feel her mouth moving against the top of her head.

“I don’t know,” the Doctor says. “Sort of. And if I slow down I start thinking too much.”

“What’s wrong with thinking?” the Corsair asks.

“There’s too much to think about,” the Doctor says. “And not enough of it is good.”

The Corsair’s arms tighten around her, and the Doctor smiles despite herself.

“This is good, though,” she adds. Even though she’s still in her clothes, on top of the covers, with her shoes on.

“I know,” the Corsair purrs, her voice low in the Doctor’s ear.

If this is a dance, then it’s a slow dance, the sort of thing you do because you want to be close to the other person more than you want to dance. It’s careful, graceful, and the Doctor can feel her eyes closing, her hearts slowing down…

She wakes up some time later, only half-aware of where she is. For a moment she’s scared, but then she feels the Corsair’s arm on her waist, and soft breath on her neck, and she suddenly feels warmer than she’s felt in a long time. She wiggles around until she manages to roll over to face the Corsair, who is looking at her with half-open eyes.

“Did you sleep?” the Doctor asks. “Can’t go ‘round telling me to rest and then not sleep yourself.”

“A little,” the Corsair says. Her hair is still perfect, somehow. “But I sleep every night, Doctor.”

“Why?” the Doctor asks. “You don’t have to.”

“It’s time for myself,” the Corsair says. “Time to relax.”

“Don’t like relaxing,” the Doctor grumbles.

“Seemed all right with it a moment ago,” the Corsair says.

“That’s just ‘cause you’re here,” the Doctor admits, and immediately turns red. “I mean— just— it’s harder when I’m alone.”

“Guess I’d better stick around, then,” the Corsair teases.

“Nah,” the Doctor says. “I know you. You’re too much a free spirit to ever come with me.”

“I said I wanted to change,” the Corsair says. “Remember?”

And, slowly, the Doctor allows herself a glimmer of hope.

“All right, then,” she says. “Couldn’t hurt for you to try out a trip with us, at least. See how it goes.” And before she knows it, she’s rolling out of bed, getting back on her feet, reaching to pull the Corsair in the same direction. 

“Knew I couldn’t get you to stay still for long,” the Corsair says, but the spark is back in her eyes. They’re dancing again, a new, old, familiar, terrifying sort of dance, and the Doctor is thrilled.

  
  



End file.
